Work Text
Therapy was a necessary evil for them both.While hospitalized, the attending staff of specialists pushed for pursuing some form of talk therapy following discharge. Given the frequency with which individuals were beginning to survive Jigsaw’s traps, a niche “Jigsaw support group” had been formed, and each of them simply must be disturbed by the circumstances that had befallen them. The self-imposed amputation of your own foot will leave lasting effects, after all.Lawrence swallowed his dismay at the notion of inserting himself into such a vulnerable, open setting and ultimately agreed to attend whatever counseling the practitioners recommended for him, so long as it was private and through the hospital; as accustomed as he was to putting on roles and performances, he refused to become involved in any support group centered in the shared trauma of an experience with Jigsaw. He was just a man who happened to run in with the killer; it didn’t need to define the entire course of his therapy. Really, he likely could have gotten by without it in the first place, but it was always better to appease your clinicians. Of course.Adam expressed the direct opposite sentiment. He had exploded at his doctor - how dare she even suggest therapy to him, how dare she demand that he revisit the sewer again and again, how dare she assume what was best for him, she clearly wasn’t a mental health specialist because he was not and had never been mentally ill, thank you very much. The “Jigsaw support group” only infuriated him further; how had the killer evaded capture long enough to warrant a support group full of people he’d disfigured or tortured? How could the police possibly be this incompetent? They had even been led to the exact spot where he and Lawrence were imprisoned in that god forsaken bathroom, Jesus fucking Christ, did he have to seek the man out himself?Sedation shortly followed before he could work himself up further and potentially tear the sutures from his shoulder.The pair was hospitalized for a similar amount of time: Lawrence’s blood loss proved to be far beyond cataclysmic and had resulted in anemia despite several transfusions. His condition was closely monitored; if he hadn’t cauterized his gaping wound on the pipe leaking steam just outside the bathroom within the timeframe he had, he would likely still be on that floor. Physical therapy, fitting and manufacturing a proper prothesis, learning to utilize it with an accompanying cane, and acquiring the use of a wheelchair required more time still.Surgery was performed to remove the bullet from Adam’s shoulder, given that it had shattered his clavicle and become infected ( the grime from the bathroom had indubitably been the primary cause ). His subclavian artery had been missed; otherwise, he would probably remain with Lawrence, only dead inside the bathroom rather than outside. Once the scar tissue began to form, recurring pain shortly followed, indicative of bullet fragments remaining fixed somewhere beneath the skin. More due to the pain than any tangible deformity, the range of motion in his shoulder greatly decreased. A learning curve for the new constraints of his body was necessary and he was ultimately in recovery more at home than in any medical facility.Despite rooming in the same hospital for an extended period of time, neither of them made any effort to visit the other. Word moved quickly among the staff regarding the state they had been discovered in, and so they made inquiries about the wellbeing of their respective partner, but nothing more. It was a combination of the need for extensive medical care, reluctance to confront shared trauma, and simple fear, but the penultimate result remained the same: solitude.Eventually, both of their bodily needs had been addressed. Adam was able to discard his sling and Lawrence was permitted to return home to Alison and Diana. There was no communication whatsoever following their releases and the months streaked by in absolute silence, Adam never truly knowing what had befallen Lawrence, as he was sent home beforehand.It was only by coincidence that they were reintroduced. Really, it was bound to happen, as living in the same city can only allow one to avoid another for so long ( as Adam had previously learned ).He stood outside of a convenience store after purchasing a fresh pack, smoking one of the new cigarettes and passively observing the sun fall below the horizon. It had always struck him as unreasonably funny, the way the moon was so high and so faint in the later stages of sunset, and so he enjoyed catching it there whenever possible. The air had been hot and humid, as summer had long since taken root. The time was nearing 8:30 PM.The glass door squeaked open behind him and a young girl’s chatter was carried on the moisture. He was not even going to bother turning, as he was wary of children and their overprotective parents, but the voice that followed was enough to almost pry the cigarette from his lips.“Adam?”He moved so fast that he practically toppled, hastily switching the cigarette from his lips to his fingers. The rest was a blur of awkwardness, relief, and suppressed emotion.Upon his departure from the hospital, Lawrence had separated from his wife; their relationship was not functional as it was ( nor had it been for some time ) and the trauma that he had unwillingly brought Alison and their daughter, combined with his sudden inability to totally support himself, was more than she could bear. He trusted Alison with Diana, willingly signing off on partial custody in the terms of their divorce and moving into an accessible apartment. He was allotted weekend charge of Diana and resumed his job as an oncologist part-time, testing the limits of what he could tolerate with the cane and prothesis. Initially, he was reluctant to publicly utilize the wheelchair due to image concerns, but he quickly outgrew such superficial anxieties when walking began to ache. The artificial foot and cane were regulated primarily to worktime use.Not much had changed in Adam’s life since the escape from the sewer. He had ceased his “private investigator” work, instead opting for a more regular full-time stint as a front desk clerk in a hotel with sporadic freelance photography gigs on the side. He unwillingly adapted to life with chronic pain and reduced motion. He smoked more often. He was consistently impulsive and perhaps a bit more prone to anger than he had been before. Nothing notable.It remained wholly unvoiced, but truth be told, they were both incredibly lonesome. Lawrence had not had a friend outside of work in a very long time and having no one to come home to proved to be a major adjustment - Diana was only present about two days at a time, after all. Adam had always been something of a loner, driving people away with his harsh attitude and unsettling habits, but being shut up in his apartment and in pain for so long had only served to emphasize that fact.The companionship that they offered to one another, neglecting the circumstances that had formerly plagued them, was refreshing. They talked frequently and met up almost just as much, Adam never commenting on Lawrence’s stump and Lawrence never addressing his smoking. It was as if the bathroom had never happened; they were simply old friends who just so happened to run into each other on the street after drifting apart. Nothing more and nothing less.Their shared trauma, however, was far too strong of a presence to ignore. After much pondering and hinting, it was Adam who finally breached the subject, more out of a drunken haze than anything else. Something about how angry he was that Jigsaw was still walking free, could very well be among them, either of them could have run into him at the damn store, why weren’t the police doing anything, things of that nature. It was only then that Lawrence countered with the subject of talk therapy.With much painstakingly contrived persuasion from Lawrence himself, Adam eventually relented. He would attend therapy, but only if Lawrence would accompany him. Not because he was reluctant, you see, but only because he wished for Lawrence to take the brunt of the upset that would assuredly follow. The older man agreed with a wry grin that Adam pretended not to notice.It was after one such session that Adam walked beside Lawrence, puffing on a cigarette with his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. It was cold enough for multiple layers, but not yet enough for snow. Lawrence’s gloves were soundless against the aluminum frames of his chair, gliding along to push himself forward. He had grown accustomed to Adam’s lengthy silences in the wake of particularly dicey bouts.Eventually, he finally spoke. “Fucking hardass. He’s thinking about trying a different type of therapy with me.”“Is he?” Lawrence’s tone was entirely pliable, slightly high-strung and inquisitive, but comfortably so. He knew that the bite to Adam’s tone was not directed toward him.“Yeah. Apparently, I’m still not managing my “PTSD” or “anxiety” very well.” Adam removed his hands from his pockets to indicate his sarcasm with air quotes; while he had come to accept that he was, in fact, mentally ill, he was unafraid of expressing his displeasure still surrounding the topic. “He said my outbursts have improved, but I’m still having a hard time being exposed to anything that even vaguely reminds me of trauma. Load of bullshit if you ask me.”Lawrence hummed neutrally in response. He made no mention of how Adam had informed him of his tendency to urinate into the kitchen sink rather than utilize an actual toilet just the other night, nor how sporadically he bathed due to his debilitating fear of any imagery associated with washrooms. “You should follow whatever he recommends. He’s looking to help you, after all.”“I know.” Adam visibly grimaced around the cigarette clenched between his teeth, his hands returning limply to his pockets. “Fucking therapists. Think they know everything. What’s the word for that, again?”“Omniscient. Also, it’s their job to annoy you and know everything.” Lawrence’s bluntness was cushioned by his relaxed, playfully sly demeanor. “Trust me, it used to get to me, too.”Adam merely grunted, pausing to stub his cigarette out on the brick ledge adjoining the sidewalk that crawled up to the yard of a hilltop church. He pocketed the butt and resumed walking. Apparently, all the daily energy he allotted into his “fight” response had been drained out of him. “Whatever, Mr. Rogers. I’d be surprised if you even talk about anything but, like, work during therapy. Or that one coworker who ratted on you that one time. Surely that is the most traumatic thing that’s ever happened to you, right?” Clearly, he was joking, but there was undeniably a bit of venom lurking beneath his outward exterior.Lawrence was hardly rattled; Adam had said much worse to him before ( they had fought, and quite nastily at that ) and neither of them currently possessed the energy for it. He had learned to take just about everything much less seriously than he previously would have; nothing matters all that much in scope of the grander picture. “Yes. Back in the summer of my second year of oncology practice. It was the worst thing to ever happen to me.” His delivery was dry.Apparently, that was the correct response. Adam laughed, a quiet thing from the back of his throat, before launching into a cough – smoking tended to agitate his lungs further when the weather grew colder. “I’m sure it was. Poor Larry. So naïve and innocent.”Larry. Alison had called him that before, but that was not why his hands momentarily stalled over the wheels. “You’re the sole person I've ever met who has called me that from the get-go. You only call me Lawrence when you're scared or angry.”The nickname was somewhat common, yes, but it had only ever been used to refer to him affectionately. Very affectionately, at that.“What? Are you too high and mighty for anyone to use anything but your full name?” Adam effectively snarled, concealing his unwarranted hurt behind a wall of indignation; he despised the ease with which Lawrence could read him, seemingly making a mental note of all of his strange behaviors and their corresponding emotions. It was clinical and sterile enough to make his skin crawl. "Well, sorry, Larry.”“No. Nothing like that.” As predicted, Lawrence was able to deflect the exasperation as if it were nothing at all. Before the realization could dawn in Adam’s vexed mind, he added, “I couldn’t care less if you call me that. It’s just what all of my partners have called me before, so I've always been somewhat taken aback.”Adam grumbled something under his breath, eyes drifting away from Lawrence’s face to focus on the sidewalk stretching before his feet. “Wait. Partners. Are you gay, Larry?”“Adam. I was married to a woman and conceived a child with her.”“Hey, man. You never know.” Adam shrugged exaggeratedly, and with only one of his shoulders - he had long since trained himself to default to exclusively using his uninjured side. “Like this: did you know I’m bisexual?”It was something of a test. An obstacle to test Lawrence’s performance.“Well, no. I didn’t.” Lawrence did not falter, goading Adam’s raised hackles to lower ( at least, to a degree ). “Hm. Thanks for trusting me, I suppose?”“Jesus. You don’t have anything else to say about it?”“No. Should I have something more to say? This has never happened to me before. There are much, much larger things in life to worry about than who someone else happens to get into bed with. Besides, you’re very… casual about it, it would seem.”“Never knew you were a psychologist, too.” Adam snorted, all but scoffing down to his current companion.“I’m not. Just… In college, before med school, I did “experiment” a bit. Nothing that ever lasted, obviously.”Adam abruptly came to a halt. He blinked down to Lawrence, his brows screwing in disbelief. “You? You married a woman, had a kid with her, had at least one affair with one of your own students, who was also a chick –““Christ, Adam! I know all of this! Besides, weren’t you just asking me whether or not I’m gay?”He silently deflected the posterior end of Lawrence’s statement, as he was somewhat prone to do. “Just saying, it’s pretty unbelievable. Also, you totally dated yourself saying you “experimented” in college - only old white chicks say that.”Lawrence grimaced in distaste, blatantly floundering for a counter to scavenge even a scrap of his wounded pride. “I’m not even significantly older than you.”“Of course. Eleven years is nothing at all.”Dropping the subject and practically admitting his defeat in the matter, Lawrence continued to wheel himself along. Adam paced alongside him in silence, simply enjoying the cool air biting into his cheeks. Gradually, they made their way to the entrance of Adam’s apartment building, riding the elevator to the fourth floor and entering his residence. Lawrence rose from his chair, hobbling wordlessly to the outdoor porch; he knew Adam’s post-therapy routine by now.An additional chair to join the one already situated on the concrete had been dragged out from storage some time beforehand. Lawrence had recognized it as his designated seat and claimed it as such, unabashedly settling himself there. He only had to wait a moment before Adam exited the apartment to accompany him, freshly brewed coffee in hand. He sat in the remaining chair and shortly produced his pack of cigarettes, taking one between his fingers as he briefly neglected the mug on the side table. It was brought to his lips and ignited, quickly chased by sporadic sips of caffeine.“Would you still go out with a man? Nowadays, I mean. College doesn’t count.”The inquiry was sudden. “I haven’t thought about it.” Lawrence briefly closed his eyes, reclining back into his chair. Smoke had long since ceased bothering him; he had come to associate it almost solely with Adam’s presence. “I suppose so. I’ve never had a romantic relationship with a man, but, then again, I haven’t had much romantic success with a woman, either.”“I’ve had both.” Adam always calmed with the first few puffs of his cigarette, gazing aimlessly over the closed balcony, eyes half-lidded and body limp. “Mainly, shit was just sex, but I did have a girlfriend or two a while back. They never lasted long. Men just understand shit more, you know? Longest relationship I’ve had was with one. Back in high school. Don’t really know what happened to him after we broke up. I mean, we only dated a few months, so it’s not like I lost the fucking love of my life or anything. Never had a ton of romance either now that I think about it.”“Sex is just more convenient.” Lawrence’s eternal bluntness was both a blessing and a curse. “Little time commitment. Little emotional baggage. Little effort. Convenience.”“You’re so fucking clinical.” Adam exhaled, smoke curling from his lips. Thankfully, Lawrence was unable to identify his current anxious state of mind, given that he was not even looking at him. “I don’t think you were built for romance. I could probably be good at it if I tried, but nothing’s ever really inspired me to try real hard. It’d definitely be easier with a man, though. I lean more that way.”Lawrence hummed. “Interesting.” The fact that the conversation was not at all tense, merely factual in nature, was somewhat jarring, but not enough to disrupt the sense of lethargic peace. “I wouldn’t know where I fall, really. Too little experience with men and too much with women. In terms of sex, at least.”“Okay, Mr. Pussy Slayer.” Adam’s free hand briefly formed devil horns, sparing a sleazy smirk to Lawrence before he drew his legs up to settle in his chair, knees leaning back into his chest. Slowly, his cigarette diminished down to its filter, swiftly extinguished into the overflowing ash tray. Lawrence did not shift.There was a handful of comfortable silence before Adam, far too casually for the subject matter, announced, “You never told me. How you could get out.”Immediately, Lawrence knew what he was referring to. His gaze reflexively snapped to his younger companion, though he isn’t even looking at him, brown eyes affixed elsewhere. The silence was no longer comfortable and had become fully pregnant with apprehension.He had been anticipating this moment for a long time, so his reply was pre-planned. It did nothing to correct the sudden tenseness to his chest. “You’re giving me far too much credit. I never did.”Even that hardly captured Adam’s attention. He began to fiddle with his pack of cigarettes, about half empty now, the tremulousness of his hands only visible because of how the sticks danced around their enclosure. Lawrence could hear him harnessing his breathing, undoubtedly a technique taught to him by his therapist. His eyes were firmly attached to the box and he did not speak.“Alison. She and Diana made it to a neighbor’s house because they’d been held away from us. In our own home. She kept calling the phone and the police were able to track it down to the sewer; that’s where we were. The sewer.” Lawrence massaged absently at his own knee, just barely managing to disguise the grimace set into his lips. He could feel them beginning to quiver and quickly decided that he shouldn’t look at Adam, either. “I didn’t get very far at all. I… I had to cauterize my leg. There was a steam pipe. It was leaking, so I just did it there.” His stump ached and burned at the mere memory.“It was too much for me. I passed out there. Apparently, the Jigsaw killer was just behind me. The police shot, but he managed to escape, obviously. If they’d been any later, I… I think we can both safely assume what would have happened.” Lawrence swallowed thickly. Adam had not uttered a sound, had not even shifted himself. They were mutually unable to even glance at one another.“That’s the long and short of it all.”Observances abruptly connected in Adam’s mind. He had heard Lawrence screeching in agony even through the thick metal door, had felt it deep beneath his skin; it had penetrated him like a thorn into his spine. It was soon after Jigsaw had fucking rose from the dead and left him to die in the muck. Soon after Lawrence had shot him. Soon after the excruciating pain had incapacitated him entirely. Soon after Lawrence had simply abandoned him.Zep’s corpse had been so unspeakably hideous. His brain matter, fragments of his skull, more blood than Adam had ever seen, shards of his teeth, and much more unidentifiable insides had permanently contaminated the already shit-stained bathroom floor. Bashing his head in had produced such sickening, crushing sounds. The notion that his own hands were capable of such grotesque destruction and violence, only to root around in the dead man’s pockets moments later, while his skin was still warm, had thoroughly horrified him. He had only escaped prosecution because the police just assumed that Zep’s grisly death had been the work of Jigsaw and Adam had neglected to correct them, fearful of confining himself to prison and properly atoning for his crimes. He’d been nothing but a coward and a liar since he was born, after all; it was why he no longer held any form of contact with his family.His head spun and he was suddenly unwell.The screens of the porch became cold white tile, mercilessly closing in despite his efforts to breathe. The concrete floor was now caked in horrendous grime and made of the same material as the walls, Lawrence was no longer present, dead just outside the looming steel door of his apartment, bleeding out minutes after amputating his own limb, Adam watching helplessly as the teeth of the hacksaw bite into his skin, hungrily devouring his sinew and muscle and bone, spitting out his blood as their voracious appetite is gradually sated, never quite enough as they set their sights to his own fresh flesh instead –“Adam! Stop it!”Hands were cupping his cheeks. Wide green eyes gazed into his. Lawrence’s features had paled, his lips forming a thin line, gently pressing their respectively slick foreheads together. It is all too indicative of back then, but Adam now finds the walls retreating instead of advancing regardless.“Stop it. Stop it.”“Lawrence,” Adam sputtered, a sob tearing involuntarily from his throat. The tears were spilling as if pulled forcefully from his eyes and his fingers were shaking so terribly that he could practically feel the electricity causing them to convulse, clenched so tightly in Lawrence’s sleeves that his knuckles pale.“You’ll be okay. It’s alright. I promise. I came back, didn’t I? I came back. I did.”Adam gasped and panted for air so harshly that he began to drool. He was effectively slobbering, snotting, and sobbing into Lawrence’s already damp skin, but neither of them dared to pull away. If anything, Lawrence moved closer, clutching the other man’s face so securely that he could very well bruise. “You’ll be okay. You’re alright. It’s over.”Lawrence was too close. Far too close to merit anything good. Adam impulsively kissed him, body trembling and thumping with fear, his lips chapped and streaked with snot. The kiss was uncoordinated and disgusting, tainted with teeth and fluids that should not be present, but neither of them possessed the willpower to care.Lawrence did not even consider pulling away. His shaky fingers threaded through Adam’s greasy hair, moist with sweat, aiming to clear any form of path. He hadn’t made the time to trim his hair in months.Adam melted and wheezed and quaked, tongue practically plunging down Lawrence’s throat before he could truly think to stop it. The older man took it with little grace, basically gagging before he could properly register what was happening, but he gripped tighter afterwards, each of them seemingly unable to edge close enough. Their bodies convulsed with a mixture of fear and uncertainty as if propelled by electric currents.Lawrence, previously having moved to kneel on his knee before his companion, was pulled upwards. Their lips shifted and Adam was shuddering, hunched in on himself and visibly wracked with terror, his hands jerking in Lawrence’s sleeves. He was struggling to balance on his singular good leg.“Fuck me, Larry, please fuck me. Please,” Adam begged, no hint of arousal to his voice. There was not a dry square inch on his face. “Please, please, Larry, please fuck me hard, please –“He was suddenly all but collapsing down into Adam’s chair, lap made unavailable by his legs, drawn up to press to his chest. The position is supremely uncomfortable and almost intolerable, but Lawrence paid it no mind, hurriedly locking his arms around the younger man’s torso.As Adam responded in turn, the unstable chair tipped forwards and dumped them. Neither of them seemed to have even noticed, fastened together as if held by a vice. Adam had yet to cease his mumbling, his weight pinning Lawrence’s body down beneath him and his tremulous hands knotted in the fabric of his jacket.“Larry, Larry, Lawrence, please fuck me, I know you have a big dick, knew it since I first saw you, wanna feel it deep in my fucking guts –“This time, Lawrence kissed him instead. The desired effect is immediate, Adam falling forcibly silent and pliable as Lawrence cupped his face in his newly steady hands, manually drawing his head back.“Shut up. Stop it.”Adam’s hips jerked forwards, rutting feverishly into the older man’s pelvis. He continued to tremble and his voice grew hoarse, hardly pitched above a rasp. “More, Larry, hurt me more, tell me to shut my fucking mouth, just like you did before you shot me, before you left me –“He escaped the older man’s grasp and pressed his face into his neck, huffing hot breath down his spine. He nuzzled his nose into his shoulder almost adoringly, his tone dropping to a raw, throaty growl. He mindlessly humped Lawrence’s thigh. “You lied. You never came back for me. You would’ve died and left me there all alone, fucking bleeding and starving to death because you shot me and all I had to eat was Zep’s fucking skin, you’d probably like that shit, you sick fuck –“Lawrence was the one panting now, unable to help himself. Adam's hips are gyrating against his thigh and he hasn’t fucked anyone in so damn long, hasn’t even masturbated, his words are revolting but his voice is so fucking low and hot, Lord only knows how long he’s been needing a proper fuck to put him in place.“Adam, please –““Feel you, Larry. I feel you.” Adam abruptly grasped at Lawrence’s cock through his slacks, teeth digging into the skin of his neck. The older man’s breath involuntarily hitched in his throat. “Know you wanna fuck me, wanna fuck me ‘till I cry, right here on the fucking porch where everyone can see you do it –“Slowly, Adam’s shakes had been subsiding. Of course.Lawrence snagged a handful of hair in his fist, yanking Adam’s ravenous teeth away from his shoulder. He butted in just as the younger man audibly hissed in frustration. “Adam. You only want to have sex because it would let you run far away. You wouldn’t have to confront anything if you had sex right now. Stop it.”That finally appeared to appeal to him. Adam paused, breathing hard and heavy. Partial clarity finally dawned in his brown eyes. Before either of them could move, sprawled and awkward and horny, he lowered his head to rest on Lawrence’s chest.“Don’t fucking say anything, Lawrence, or I’ll kill you. I mean it.”The older man sighed. Wordlessly, his arms looped limply over Adam’s midsection. “We have things to talk about.”“Shut the fuck up. I know.”Eventually, after what felt to be several eternities, Adam shifted. He pulled himself up off of Lawrence’s front and silently guided him to his wheelchair, just inside the apartment. As he produced a final cigarette, his partner texts Alison, informing her that he will be late in collecting Diana; something unexpected had come up.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
In childhood, one of Adam’s irrational fears had been of darkness. It was more the all-consuming and despairful type that accompanied underground caves or a moonless, cloudy sky devoid of stars, but he had been too young and ignorant to differentiate that from the typical lightlessness of his bedroom up through the end of grade school. His mind’s eye captured the handful of memories that he still retained from youth in a fashion quite analogous to a camera’s lens, absolute and unyielding but maddeningly rigid. From these snapshots, he could deduce that he regularly spent several hours simply lying awake in bed, petrified to the point of paralysis in the seemingly endless dark but knowing better than to produce any extraneous house noise ( despite the consistent sounds of shuffling and activity downstairs ). More than the opaqueness of his room, he feared attracting worldly attention to his wakefulness. So, he reluctantly chose to address the blackness instead, a marginally lesser evil.
As he aged, he was naturally made to confront the absence of light again and again to the point of near complete desensitization, but it was his foray into photography that ultimately vanquished any lingering vestibules of fear. A darkroom was essential to the craft, at least to make any progress in appearing professional; true, engineering the space himself ( although based almost solely on early internet “do-it-yourself” guides and scraps of relevant experience from high school ) had certainly contributed to the process, but inky blackness had also become far less formidable. Exposure had proven itself the best form of therapy, a first in Adam’s life.
Any tolerance that he may have accumulated for darkness was swiftly annihilated in the moments following Jigsaw’s rise from the dead, specifically when his decrepit fingers went to the effort of switching the room’s lights off. It was as if he was already aware of Adam’s phobias and anxieties, deliberately exploiting them for his own personal gratification ( despite how his twisted belief system supposedly justified such actions ). Even before the killer could shove his frail body’s weight into closing the door and sealing him away into the dark for all eternity, Adam had begun to scream – some reflex foresaw what was to come next and had set his viscera alight with panic. His shoulder was deadweight, the pain from his fresh wound sensationally imperceptible in the face of such overwhelming fear. The dawning realization that his sole key to safety had been, quite literally, sucked down the drain before he could come to full consciousness was simply another unspeakable nail driven into the coffin that his psyche had become.
With the torturously slow closing of the door, Adam’s hysterical shrieks only swelled in volume and frequency, raw and wordless as they exploded from his withered throat. He was utterly mindless with terror, eyes bulging and jaw practically unhinged – the fact that the entire situation still felt surreal and staged did nothing to soothe him. Despite having a warm corpse situated next to him, one that he had personally murdered and consequently ransacked, Zep was not at all weighing on Adam’s conscience. His internal dialogue had been silenced and replaced with the amplified noise of his own screams, only made worse as the door finally closed with a resounding thud.
His mind did briefly conjure an image of Lawrence’s worryingly pale countenance and the enormous disadvantage that he was faced with, made to slither and crawl slowly across the grimy floor as his fresh wound gushed blood in his wake, surviving solely on stolen time. However, Adam’s scattered mindset still proved to be overwhelmingly selfish, fueled by an excess of adrenaline mixed with the natural drug of fear so great that it was almost blinding. He knew what his fate would be if Lawrence was unable to escape; the mere notion was enough to keep him screaming listlessly at the top of his voice, a reminder to his fellow prisoner that he was alive and desperately in need of deliverance.
Of course, Adam did not know then the fragile state of the killer’s health and body. Even with the physical limitations brought about by illness, Jigsaw was at an indisputable advantage when compared to Lawrence – Adam’s assumption that an able-bodied murderer was after his only chance at life drove him into a somehow heightened panic, hyperventilating and gasping between each ear-splitting expulsion. He jerked convulsively against the smothering chains, slamming his head on the bathtub’s hard tile but too numb with shock to register the additional hurt ( not that it mattered, as his body was already alight with aches and pains unlike any he had experienced before ). He raved and shouted beyond the point of hoarseness, unceasing even when the door was opened what felt to be endless eternities later. Eventually, as he was methodically freed and loaded into an ambulance, Adam would succumb to absolute exhaustion, taking his unbroken yells with him into silence.
Following his moderately prolonged stay in the hospital, Adam was both physically and mentally unable to breach the makeshift darkroom in his apartment. It remained untouched since he had been abducted, a horrible reminder of so much abject trauma and horror, not even to mention the fact that it was absent of light by its very nature. The room was shut up and simply absorbed as yet another slight tweak to Adam’s behaviors accompanying his corporeal recovery.
The apartment reflected its owner’s finances – cramped and lacking. Lawrence, accustomed to his painstakingly curated reality of opulence and lavishness, was never impolite enough to comment but certainly noticed the obvious underutilization of the available space. It was already limited enough as it was; surely, then, the perpetually closed room had to serve as storage? That was the only feasible solution he could conjure, the curiosity driving him enough to one day inquire about it while comfortably tipsy.
Almost imperceptibly, Adam’s expression instantly fell, inner conflictions making themselves apparent as they grappled momentarily across his countenance, tinged red with booze – he had long surpassed his partner’s level of drunkenness. His words marginally slurred and tone purposefully trim, he nonchalantly replied, “Oh. It’s just storage. I don’t ever go in there because most of it is old shit I don’t really use, you know? I’m sure you’ve got a basement stacked floor to ceiling with shit at your old house like every other suburban family.”The unnecessary quips always accompanied Adam’s attempts at deflection, a defense mechanism pounded into him by the American public school system. A wan smile touched Lawrence’s lips.“You really are an awful liar. However, it’s none of my business what you decide to do with your space.” He intentionally neglected to mention the fact that he visited so often he may as well be Adam’s roommate.Lawrence’s own apartment was certainly more spacious and clean, but it consequently reeked of sterility and a distinct unhomeliness, housing a single occupant in contrast to his accustomed three ( at a minimum ). Almost two years had passed since his divorce, but Lawrence was seemingly unable to adjust. Likely another problem born in the aftermath of his time in the sewer.“Hello? Earth to Larry.”Adam cocked an eyebrow and loosely waved his hand in front of the older man’s face, forcibly dragging him from his brief reverie. Lawrence swallowed a grimace – he could tell that, despite his current comparative sobriety, this session of drinking would likely only increase the negativity bouncing disjointedly about his mind. Nonetheless, he downed yet another generous swig of whiskey.“Sorry. What did you say?”“I said you’re damn right it’s none of your business. Whatever I’ve got going on in there is probably miles better than your old basement.”“How do you know it was a mess?” Lawrence had learned to dodge Adam’s reflexive jabs, especially while under the influence; he tended toward belligerency or spacey, noncommittal mellowness, apparently caught somewhere in between for now. Typically, he could ignore the younger man’s quips unthinkingly, but some effort was needed to bite his tongue in this circumstance ( only made worse by the unfortunate fact that his basement had been an unorganized cesspool up until a few months back when Alison finally decided to move house ).“Like I said: every suburban family has one. Especially if they’re rich.”That day, the conversation had practically ended there. As the months passed and that door remained ceaselessly closed ( and Lawrence somehow visited even more frequently ), perhaps because he could still recall the feelings of relief and accomplishment upon helping to sort his own cluttered basement, he proposed the same solution to Adam. Never mind the nagging notion that the room was not used for storage at all but served some other unstated purpose.“Wouldn’t you like to be able to use all of the space available to you? It already isn’t a lot. If you’d like, I’ll help you sort everything and clean it. There’s nothing in there that would shock me, I can assure you.”Despite them very well living together now during the week, when Lawrence did not have charge of Diana, it would be far too taboo to suggest that they simply kill two birds with one stone and officially move into a new, shared setting. Many of Lawrence’s possessions had gradually been placed in Adam’s space, to the point where he had found himself lacking something specific in his own apartment on more than one occasion, but neither of them was willing to cave and put a label to their relationship - it was too nuanced and strangely nebulous. As such, most things remained as they were, for better and for worse.Adam had made a show of avoiding the invitation, dragging his feet until Lawrence insisted enough that he relented. The older man internally noted his blatant annoyance and apprehension but swiftly chalked it up to nothing more than stubbornness.To ease Adam even slightly, Lawrence coaxed him to agree to a concrete date on which they could plan for and breach the unused room: Friday, conveniently just prior to when he would retire for the weekend to pick up his daughter. Adam was doing his best to escape confronting part of his own living space, but no matter. The endeavor would merely have to change from a task requiring multiple days’ work down to one, provided that there was anything to clean out in the first place.When the appointed Friday came about, Lawrence was the first to arrive at Adam’s apartment. He unthinkingly utilized the spare key that had been gifted to him only weeks ago, not without some cut from Adam about how fruity it was to spend so much time there as to require one ( of course, Lawrence had never asked for it ). Judging that he was alone based on the uncharacteristic silence and dimness to the flat, Lawrence mechanically folded his coat and draped it over the back of a kitchen chair, standing from his wheelchair and leaving it empty just in front of the door to the small balcony. He leaned his weight onto his cane to better stabilize himself, not bothering to affix his prosthesis for the time being – traversing Adam’s tiny apartment was not worth the effort ( though he would have no choice but to put it on later ).Lawrence deposited himself onto the couch with a sigh, sparing a glance to the clock: 7:47 PM. They had agreed to meet around 7:30, but Adam was chronically tardy, to the point where he could be reliably counted on to be at least twenty minutes late to each and every event. Lawrence, exceedingly punctual, could never bring himself to be more than fifteen minutes late to their unstructured happenings, habitually telling Adam that any time-sensitive functions would begin half an hour before they were actually scheduled. If Adam had ever noticed that he tended to arrive slightly before these episodes occurred, he never made any mention of it.Keen not to appear anxious despite Adam’s decided absence, Lawrence quickly set about busying his hands, not even sparing a thought to how strange it was that Adam was late to a meeting in his own home; the man had a talent for being delayed no matter the set or setting. The more thought that he spared to Adam’s perpetual unpunctuality, the angrier he became, so he intentionally blocked any adjacent thoughts from his mind and instead tinkered with his laptop. Only after what felt to be a decent chunk of time passed did Lawrence glance at the small clock in the corner of the screen: 8:49 PM.Adam was late, but usually no more than half an hour or so. To not only have missed the arranged time by half an hour, but a full hour and then some, was an immediate cause for concern.Internally chastising himself for not having paid more attention to the passage of time, Lawrence instinctively reached for his cell phone – he had texted Adam about two hours ago informing him that he was on his way to the apartment. The screen showed no recent notifications and therefore no reply, just an image of Diana serving as his screensaver staring far too happily back at him.He cursed under his breath, opening the phone and harshly tapping Adam’s contact name, unthinkingly pressing the button to call. Straight to automated voicemail after a single ring. He tried once more in case it had been a fluke – no ring at all this time before the robotic voice message played.“Shit.”Lawrence’s eyes unfocused for a moment, cognitive gears scrabbling desperately for any potential names that may have been in recent contact with Adam. From previous deductions, Adam had cut off all family members in years past, and scarcely mentioned any current friends. The more he tried to conjure up anybody, the more that he truly realized the apparent depth of Adam’s social isolation ( not that he was in any position to speak on such things ).As he bounced different dead ends about his mind, growing progressively more panicked with each passing minute as he unwillingly began to envision more and more dire explanations for Adam’s absence, the apartment’s sole entrance abruptly opened in a rush. Adam all but stumbled inside, not making the effort to close the door behind him.For a pregnant handful of seconds, both were frozen in place, Lawrence’s pale features tightening as relief, anger, indignation, and innumerable other emotions skimmed across his consciousness. Adam, for his part, did not even seem to register Lawrence’s presence, appearing as if he had been petrified in stone. Overcome by the impending reactions, Lawrence did not notice the door standing totally ajar.“Where the ever-loving fuck have you been?” Lawrence hissed, the words coming in an almost physical expulsion from his chest. He was beginning to seethe, right hand clutching the arm of the couch in an unrelenting vice grip. “Do you have any idea how fucking –“Adam’s eyes were plate glass, though his body had begun to shake. His throat visibly worked as he swallowed nothing but sandpaper, lips involuntarily pursing and hands practically vibrating. His expression began to contort as if possessed by convulsions, legs suddenly giving way as he collapsed to the floor in what looked like a dead faint.Unthinkingly, Lawrence stood, grappling with his cane. For the first time, he noticed the gaping door, but swiftly found that he did not care in that moment. Dropping the cane in his incoordination, he fell to his knees, instinctively moving to cushion Adam’s head with his previously folded coat in the event of a seizure. Thankfully, the younger man’s body was wholly still, his eyes not rolled back into his skull but undoubtedly dead and unseeing.Before Lawrence had the opportunity to properly process what was happening, Adam sat up as if propelled. He visually recognized the other man for the first time, reflexively bunching his fingers in his shirt. Up close, he reeked of booze and pot and vomit, flecks of stomach acid decorating his collar. His pupils were dilated to the point that his eyes appeared to be dual black holes.“I can’t go in there,” he finally croaked, slurring and nearly unintelligible.“Go in where?” Lawrence countered, completely forgetting the original purpose of their rendezvous. “What are you talking about? What are you on?” His fingers flew to Adam’s wrist still clutched firmly in his shirt, feeling for a pulse. It was faint, almost undetectable, far too slow.Adam laughed, an uncanny giggle that exploded from his throat. He was sweating and his skin was cold, clammy. He offered no verbal reply, though his hand fell from Lawrence’s chest.Stealing a portion of time to orient himself as detachedly as possible, Lawrence moved to shut the door and provide them with a semblance of privacy. He then bodily nudged Adam toward the couch, his shoulders resting at its foot, but there was no sign of any recognition in his face. His eyelids fluttered without direction.“I’m going to ask again. What are you on? You smell like weed and booze but those alone wouldn’t have gotten you like this.”“Why do you need to know? Are you a snitch, Larry?”Lawrence huffed agitatedly, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve seen you snort only god knows what several times right in front of my face. I need to know what you’re on so I can figure out if you need a fucking ambulance.”“Hmm. Let’s see.” Adam raised his hands to count on his fingers, digits trembling uncontrollably and index finger much farther away from his stationary hand than it otherwise should have been for purposes of counting. “I’ve had some lovely coke, heroin, datura, ayahuasca, shrooms, reefer, meth –“Lawrence gripped the other man’s shoulders, violently shaking him in his anger despite his current incapacitated state. “I’m not fucking around, Adam! This is serious! You could be fucking dying! If you won’t tell me, I’ll just leave you to it. Have a seizure and choke to death on your own vomit, for all I care. I’ll leave and let you do it. Fucking try me.”Adam did not respond, slumping loosely against the foot of the couch. After a handful of seconds, Lawrence disgustedly began to locate his fallen cane, just preparing to stand before Adam finally confessed.“A lot of booze, benzos, and some weed. That’s it. No bullshitting.”Lawrence visibly relaxed, the scrutiny and distaste in his glare significantly lessening. Mentally, he shifted easily into the role of a physician. “Thank you. Now get up and lie on the couch. I’m not going to get you up, but I will help you. Assuming you’ve been honest with me.”Increasingly spacey, Adam slowly mustered his meager strength to drag himself onto the couch and lie down. For his part, Lawrence calmly stood, striding into the kitchen to procure a glass of water and a bit of bread. Upon returning to the living room, Adam mechanically ate and drank under Lawrence’s watchful eye, giving one-word replies to any questions ( if he was able to give one at all ). Almost just as soon as he had finished the supplied sustenance, he lapsed into unconsciousness and did not rise again until roughly twenty hours later, Lawrence studiously observing the rise and fall of his chest throughout the night.Only after Adam had been unconscious for a prolonged period did Lawrence piece together what he meant when he was talking about being unable to go in somewhere: the storage room. Experiencing a strange sensation of deja-vu, he texted Alison, informing her that a friend had fallen ill and he would be unable to properly attend to Diana that weekend. He internally cursed Adam for the inconvenience and prepared to hunker down, stationing himself in the chair adjacent to the couch ( the only other piece of furniture in the room ). Sporadically, he noted the man’s breathing patterns, though was eventually unable to fight the lure of sleep and guiltlessly retired to Adam’s bed.Whenever Adam awoke again, there would be hell to pay, and answers would be the named price.